After the Curtain Falls and the Fire Consumes
by twostrandsofmelody
Summary: In honor of Phantom25 a little after the Phantom vanishes and Christine and Raoul leave story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I promised myself that I wouldn't write another fic until I finished my large ones. However, here I am after PotO25th and I'm desperate to write something based off of Ramin/Sierra/Hadley. I do love them so.**

**Not sure where this will go but here we have it**.

~o~

Could she have possibly made a mistake? Why had he let her go? She had chosen him! Couldn't he tell? Or was the whole situation so convoluted that he had misunderstood her choosing_ him_ for her choosing Raoul.

He had let Raoul go.

_Buy his freedom with your love_.

But that wasn't what she had done. At least not what she had intended with that kiss. No, she'd meant to show him what it meant to be touched, to be kissed, to be….

No. She didn't love him, she loved Raoul. Didn't she? She had agreed to marry him after all. But everything was so different now.

"Christine?" She turned at the sound of her name, hearing Raoul's heavy footsteps as he bolted up the staircase just outside her door. She curled her feet close to her bottom as she hugged her knees and stared out the window of the little bay window. "Christine are you in there?" He knocked at the door before opening slowly.

"Yes I am here." She replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Come away from the window Christine, you'll catch a chill from the drafty old thing."

"No Raoul…" Christine shook her head, her eyes still glued on the moonless Paris below her. The de Chagny manor had such a beautiful view of the city.

"Christine…" Raoul insisted, trying to change his forceful tone into something gentler. "_Please_, you've been sitting in this window nearly every evening. My brother would like to see that I have been honest in saying that my fiancée is _not_ insane."

"Raoul!" Christine gasped turning to look up at him with her wide doe eyes. "How could you say that I am insane? You act as if you had not seen the Phantom for yourself."

"It is not me Little Lotte," Raoul took a hold of her cold hand and pressed his warm lips to the top. "My brother is the one who taunts me with the fact that you have all but locked yourself away in the attic of our manor."

"Oh! But Raoul, I am only admiring the view."

"You have been watching the Populaire, haven't you?" Raoul asked, kneeling beside the window seat, his hand still firmly around hers. He reached up to stroke her tangled mass of curls. "Has the smoke stopped?"

"Yesterday. They put out the last of the fires yesterday." Christine turned back to look out the window, letting her hand fall limp in Raoul's grasp. "Just seven days ago I was performing there."

"Yes, Christine, but now you are to be married to me and you shan't ever have to perform again. What a trial it had been to convince you to sing again on that stage."

"No!" Christine dropped his hand abruptly, pulling away from him completely. "Raoul, no! I won't ever stop performing."

"But you were so determined-"

"Not against performing… Against betraying."

"He was a murderer Christine!" Exasperated Raoul rose to his feet and threw his hands up into the air. "How is it that you can possibly feel a sort of allegiance with that monster? One that would lead you to feel like you betrayed him. He had a noose around _my_ neck Christine!"

Christine bit her lip and stared up at Raoul, "Please… Raoul… I don't want to argue with you. If you would like me to come down for dinner…" Christine rose nimbly onto her feet, wrapping her dressing gown around herself tighter. "I will need only a few minutes to ready myself." She stared down at her feet as she brushed by Raoul.

"Christine, wait." He caught her arm and turned her around. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's alright." Christine kept her eyes low, unable to meet her finance's eyes. "Let your brother know that I will be down shortly. I promise you… I will be there."

"Christine," Raoul started as she walked. "It is the evening before our wedding, I just do not wish for us fight."

"I know Raoul." Christine shrugged her shoulders as she left the room. With unsure steps she made her way down the staircase until she reached the landing that presented her with a corridor leading to her bedroom. Her legs felt heavy as she took each step. Every day she argued with Raoul. He seemed to want to pry her innocent and childish manners out of her grasp. He wanted to change her and she was not yet ready to change.

_Christine_.

She turned, looking behind her down the dark corridor of closed doors.

"Hello?"

Christine felt like a fool for letting the entreaties slip her lips. Perhaps Raoul was right. Perhaps she was childish. She wished more than anything for her father to be there. To wrap his arms around her and pull her close to him, to tell her that everything was going to be alright, to wish her all the happiness and perfection in her life that she deserved.

As she pushed open her door she rushed inside and threw herself onto her bed. She couldn't let herself cry and ruin her face before making her entrance to dinner. Her future brother-in-law would think her mad for sure. She hid herself in dark, empty, rooms staring out across Paris, weeping.

It was all because she was here and not _there_. Where was there even located? Somewhere where _he_ was? But she didn't even know where that was. For all she knew, the mob that was descending on his world could have set fire to his lair or beaten him.

He could be dead.

Her Phantom… gone?

"Father why has this happened to me? What have I done?" Christine sobbed into her pillow, startling as she heard banging at her window. She half expected to see the Phantom there in the shadows of the pale light from the stars.

There was no moon tonight in the sky to light the shapes in the darkness. The most peculiar sight to see. No moon.

Just as she had no will to live if she could not sing for him.

She rose, trembling, as she moved towards the tall French doors. There was no one outside on the balcony, only the wind beating against a half locked door. Her heart sank at the revelation, and she locked the door securely.

She had barely turned away when a thought crossed her mind. She unlatched the door and moved out onto the balcony. It wasn't very far to the ground below. Her room was on the second floor and such thick ivy grew up the lattices against the house.

Christine made haste in dressing for such a nighttime excursion.

She needed to be at her father's grave, in hopes that somehow everything would make sense. Her father had always been her one steady force in her life and once he was gone _nothing_ made sense.

If Raoul saw his fiancé now, donning a simple beige shift and wrapped tightly in a dark blue cape, climbing down the trellising outside her window, he would be appalled.

~o~

**A/N: I think I will make this a two parter. Yes? No? Like? Dislike? Questions? Answers?**

**I loved Hadley's crueler Raoul, fits the ten year later story line perfectly. Also, hesitant Christine about leaving the Phantom. I'm just playing off it.**


	2. Chapter 2

Christine wrapped the cloak tight around her as she made her way through the quiet cemetery. No one in their right mind would be out this late into the evening in a cemetery. But no one else was to be married the following day with such heavy doubts weighing on her conscience.

Could she honestly marry Raoul and doubt her love for him? Did she even know what love was? She cared about Raoul, but she wasn't looking for someone to be her husband she was looking for someone to be a father figure. She needed guiding and care, not passion and love. Raoul wanted more than she knew how to give.

"Father," Christine whispered, finding herself before her father's grave. "Have I made a mistake? Should I marry Raoul? I only want a friend to be beside me, someone to depend on, and someone to care for me – like you did. I want a protector to scare away the beasts beneath my bed. I want someone like you… Raoul wants to take the music away from me…."

_Christine_.

Christine stumbled backwards, losing her footing and staring up at the monument in front of her. _No_ that couldn't be a shape in the darkness, on the rooftop of her father's grave. _No_ there was no way that he was still alive.

Her Phantom.

"Angel?" Christine called out, looking up at the dark outline against the dark sky.

In a sweep of the figure's cape, he jumped down from the mausoleum, landing before her. "_Christine_."

She cowered at his voice, bowing her head in fear. He hadn't died! He had been here all along! And he had heard her speak to her father's spirit about Raoul.

"Why did you make me leave?" Christine felt tears stinging her eyes as she looked up at him, she could see the outline of his hand reaching out towards her. His mask the only clear determination that he was truly there.

She reached for his gloved hand, letting it pull her to his feet.

"He wants to take away _our_ music?"

"Yes." Christine trembled, clutching his hand tightly. "He wants me to stop singing when we're married. He thinks because I fought so hard against singing _Don Juan_… Oh. My angel! They made me betray you, please. It wasn't me."

He laughed a little abruptly, startling her. "I was there _mon petit_, the angel always knows. You put up such a beautiful display of your will, but I know that you have weaknesses."

"If you _knew_…"

"I chose to perform _Don Juan_, because I thought that it would be the only way that I could _touch_ you without you shrinking in fear."

Christine's eyes widened with disbelief, "Oh!" There were no other words that she could think of saying, the revelation of his desperation to have a human _care_ for him frightened her. He would risk his life to have her touch him. "I would have kept kissing you if you hadn't sent me away."

"Why would anyone wish to be with this monstrosity?"

"Catch me." Christine whispered, releasing his hand and slipping past him. Where had this playful thought come from? Why would he care for her childish games? He would disapprove even stronger than Raoul, wouldn't he?

She hid behind a mausoleum, listening with all of her might. She thought she'd hear only silence, but suddenly she heard the soft padding of his feet against the mossy graveyard ground.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are." He taunted as he heard a twig snap behind the mausoleum that he suspected her to be behind. He lunged around the corner, missing her slim arm by a fraction. She squealed as she rushed away from, bursting into giggles as he chased after her through the graveyard.

The game continued until they came to the rot iron fence that surrounded the cemetery. Christine searched for some means of escaping but instead found that she was trapped.

"Looks like our game has come to an end."

Christine grinned in the darkness, as she tried to rush past the Phantom. He caught her, crushing her petite body to his. She felt him tense beneath her, suddenly realizing the position he'd put them both in. She playfully pushed against his shoulders, before slipping them behind his neck. Her nimble little fingers found the band that held the mask to his cheek.

She pried the mask away from his cheek, slowly and afraid that'd he act out in anger again. But instead she found him still.

He shuddered as the cool air met his disfigurement and even more so when her smooth fingers met the roughness of his ugliness. "Christine…"

She silenced him with her lips. She could enjoy the feel of his uneven lips without Raoul watching them. Without the haunting sound of a mob descending on the lair.

How was it that such twisted and deformed lips brought her such pleasure. Pleasure she didn't remember feeling with Raoul's lips.

"Christine?" He questioned as she pulled away, her bosom heaving with desperate need for oxygen.

She pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. "Where words run dry." Where had such bold statements come from? She was so shy and modest with Raoul, even when he was not and suddenly she was being so desirous with her Phantom that it startled her. The cover of darkness had unlocked her passion.

Christine let out a gasp as she felt the Phantom's hand slip beneath her cloak, the cold air clung to his leather glove as it caressed her breast. She pushed away from him, and not to deceive him of her true intention she grasped his hand quickly. "Away with these. They are frightfully cold." She tugged at the dark leather that clung to his hands, frustrated at the difficulty in removing another person's gloves.

He did as she requested and let the discarded gloves fall to the earth beside them. "Christine, Christine." He leaned into kiss her, clutching her form to his. How it felt to be free to hold and caress, touch and embrace, another person!

"All I want is someone to care for me."

"I will care for you." He pushed the cloak from her shoulders, catching her beneath her bottom and slowly lowering them to the ground atop the warmth of her velvet cape. She wasn't stopping him, she wasn't turning from him, she wasn't afraid of him.

Christine pushed away his own cape, letting it loose from his shoulders so she could start to unbutton his waistcoat.

Was this what womanhood was? This unbridled passion that led you to do such dark, _dark_ deeds beneath a moonless sky.

On the eve of your wedding to another man? If Raoul wanted her to grow up, then she would. Perhaps not as he had planned, but how she had unintentionally planned. She would face Raoul when the time came, but for now she had no thoughts within her heart but thoughts of _love_.

If she could have her music of the night, she would not need to face Raoul in the morning. There would be no wedding.

~o~

**A/N: Don't get me wrong. Hadley!Raoul was one of the hottest things I've ever seen. I loved his backbone, among other things… But, I just found him to be less. "Oh dear Christine" and more "Christine pull it together!" Which I loved. This might be blossoming further into something more.**


	3. Chapter 3

"I love," The words clung to her lips as her eyes slowly opened, blinking in the morning light. "You…" She turned, realizing that her words had been for her own benefit. _He_ was gone. He had left her. There was no time for her to weep about losing the man that she had just been prepared to swear her love to. There was no time to waste, not with the sun slowly creeping up over the cemetery.

Today was her wedding day.

~o~

"Where is she?" Raoul roared, storming through the double doors and into the small sitting room where his sister sat. "If she is not in-"

"She is getting dressed, Raoul. Don't you know it is bad luck to see your bride before the wedding."

"She is _there_ though?" Raoul calmed, staring at the door that separated him from Christine. "She is actually in there? I want to hear her voice." He moved across to the door, knocking hard. "Christine? Are you in there?"

"Raoul? I'm getting ready. What is it?" Christine's voice returned, soft and sweet as always.

"I thought something was wrong, you didn't come to dinner last night." Raoul tried to sound concerned and not furious. "I was worried that something had happened."

"Oh, I'm sorry Raoul! I fell asleep last night." Christine could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"I'll leave you to get ready, Little Lotte." Raoul pressed his hand against the door, feeling foolish in front of his sister. "I worry for her. She has had a stressful life in the last year. She's frail." He said more to himself than to his sister.

"Once you are married, she will find other things to occupy her time. Things that don't involve dwelling on the past."

"Yes." Raoul nodded his head, straitening his bowtie and gripping the bottom edge of his waistcoat. He would make her forget all about that monster who had possessed her mind.

~o~

The wedding had been beautiful. Christine made an ethereal bride. She looked as though she floated on air as she walked down that aisle to her handsome fiancé. Her wedding dress was simple, nothing too over the top, or anything that resembled the dress that the Phantom had placed her in.

Christine Daae, no more, in her place was Christine de Chagny. Did Raoul notice a change in her personality already? She was all joyful and glowing from her wedding, but she lacked her typical childlike enthusiasm. He would never know that he was not the reason for her maturing, but that it had been her losing her innocence in the shadows of the night to her deformed angel.

The reception that followed was overwhelming. There was not a face she knew. Every person who introduced themselves to her was of some regal bloodline, _Vicomte, Vicomtess, Countess, Count, Lord, Lady, Duke_. There were no Madames and Monsieurs around at the wedding of the Vicomte de Chagny. She could feel their eyes boring into her flesh, judging her for being beneath them. Why had a Vicomte chosen a chorus girl turned fleeting star from the Opera Populaire?

"Raoul, I think it time that I retire." Christine whispered, entwining her arm tightly around his.

"I will announce that we are to retire." Raoul gave his wife a pleasant smile, stroking her hand sincerely.

"No." Christine tensed, "I am not ready. Not for _that_, not yet."

Raoul looked into her wide, innocent eyes. There was no point in pressing that matter. Christine would be adamant about it until he gave in. And for the Lord's holy sake, he did not want to argue with his wife on their wedding night. Especially on whether or not she would allow for their marriage to be consummated. "We can wait then, until you're ready."

"Thank you." Christine smiled sweetly, kissing her husband's cheek.

"But," Raoul started, catching her hand as she started to move away. "for image's sake we must take to our bedchamber together."

"Of course."

"Christine, a man and a woman need not consummate their marriage to lay together in bed." Raoul stroked his hand along her cheek, kissing her reassuringly. "If that is alright with you."

"Yes." Christine fought to hide her fear. She was not ready to be with Raoul, not a night after giving herself to the Phantom. It was wrong for _his_ memory and for Raoul's honor. How humiliating it would be to know that your precious wife would chose to lay her maidenhood down for a hideous man, rather than face you in the marriage bed.

Christine waited patiently at the stairs as Raoul made the announcement that both bride and groom were to retire to their chamber. Her cheeks painted scarlet as Raoul's brother toasted to their wedding night.

"A fruitful and blessed evening to you both. With joy and pleasure to your union."

Raoul bounded up the stairs beside his wife. He couldn't let on to the truth of the matter. What would the society think if they found out that his newly wedded wife was unwilling to consummate their marriage. They wouldn't see the fear in her eyes, they would think that she had something to hide or was not honest about her love for him. They did not know the Christine who had been through such emotional trials and needed someone to protect her from dark things at night.

"I love you Christine."

"And I love you Raoul." Christine smiled up at him as they reached the landing that led to their room. "I am sorry that I am not what a wife should be on her wedding night. It's only that-"

"You don't need to say a thing. I understand." Raoul kissed her gently, tenderly resting his hand at the small of her back.

Christine responded to his lips, kissing him with a timid passion. He didn't understand why she was fearful of being with him tonight. But she was not going to correct him on it. He would never need to know that she had laid beneath a moonless sky with _her_ Phantom, entwined in a beautiful melody. With music and passion coursing between her masked angel and his innocent soprano.

There was no music in the kiss between her new husband. No symphony playing away behind her ears, her blood racing in a current of intoxicating song. No, there was no music and she feared that this marriage would never bring her the music that she had felt in the darkness of the night.

She broke away from the kiss, sheepishly looking up at Raoul. His mouth was partially agape as he looked down at her with heavy lidded eyes. "_Christine_." He rasped, stepping back from her. "I will wait until you are ready."

"Thank you Raoul." She beamed up at him, gracious that he would at least prove himself an honorable husband, not one who would go against her wishes. She wanted protection and security, what a marriage provided, but she was fearful of the other parts of marriage. A hypocritical wish when she had just the night before given herself to _him_. But that was different, that was good-bye.

"I did not see your dear friend Meg at the wedding." Raoul stated as they walked inside their chamber. "She was on the guest list, we received both hers and her mother's response two weeks ago. They were both meant to be there."

Christine looked at her sad reflection in the mirror. Raoul's back was turned to her as he spoke. She pressed her fingers against the mirror, frowning sadly as she found the material solid beneath her fingers. She was no longer at the Opera Populaire, she'd entered a real world where the mirrors all reflected what was real.

She was the Vicomtess de Chagny, the wife of Raoul. Not Christine Daae, a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire. No smoke and mirrors, masked men or music.


	4. Chapter 4

Quiet, that had been the first thing she'd noticed about the Manor. It hadn't been so blatantly obvious when she'd first sought refuge there after the fire. Her ears had still been ringing with the primal cries of the Phantom when she'd left with Raoul, they'd echoed out across the lake. Her ears were full of the chants of a furious mob making their way to destroy the man she'd loved. But once she realized that he had not died in his lair, the drumming inside her head had ceased.

Now there was only chilling silence.

"Do you not even have a piano forte in the manor?" Christine asked solemnly as they ate breakfast a week or so after the wedding.

"No." Raoul replied, glancing towards his brother Phillipe, "Not since our mother died ten years or so ago. Our father had the piano taken out of the Manor. We haven't dared bring back the instrument."

"But your father is… dead." Christine replied, rather bluntly. She noticed the brothers and their sister Reinette tense at her words. "I apologize if that was rude, but it is true. Who is to stop there from being music?"

"You believe in _phantoms_ don't you?" Phillipe retorted coldly, his laugh echoing in the small breakfast room that looked out at the grand maze in their garden.

"_Phillipe_." Raoul chastised, reaching for Christine's hand warmly. "We only wish to honor our father's wishes. That is all. But if you wish, perhaps we could purchase you a piano. Would that make you happy?"

"We will not bring that confound instrument into this house." Phillipe hissed, "It is bad enough that _you_ had to marry yourself a little song bird from the Populaire. Father would have been disgraced by your ignorance."

Christine bowed her head, staring down at her barely touched meal. She had lost her appetite. "I am sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No Christine…" Raoul squeezed her hand. "I was only ten when my mother died. She had been ailing since I was six. I barely saw her. Phillipe was far more affected by her death."

"What was she like?"

"For another time, my dear." Raoul gave her a silencing look, begging her not to go into this now.

Phillipe and Reniette exchanged glances across the table, laughing at their sister-in-law's sheepish demeanor.

"I didn't mean to be rude." Christine whispered, placing her napkin on the table. "Excuse me, I don't feel well. I would like to retire to my chamber." She made haste as she rushed from the breakfast room. She suddenly felt as though her stomach were to betray her. It had been rolling uneasily since she'd awoken but she didn't think anything of it.

"Christine!" Raoul shouted as he followed after her. "What is wrong?" He questioned as he slipped into chamber in time to see Christine curled over her chamber pot. "Have they gotten you this worked up?" He knelt beside her, petting his fingers through her hair.

"I do not feel well."

"I can see that," Raoul chuckled slightly, holding back her hair as she expelled her stomach's contents again. "My brother has always been rather pig-headed. He means well, even when he is cruel."

Christine sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "They look at me as though I am crazy. They make slants about _him_."

"We promised not to speak of him."

"I know you think that he is the cause for me being a pitiful excuse for a bride." Christine cringed as her stomach flopped. _He_ was the reason she had yet to fulfill her duties as a wife. "I am still so fearful that he is watching us. Every little creak in this old manor sends me into a panic."

Raoul hushed her, pulling her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. "Christine I promised to protect you and I will not let that promise go."

"If you want to protect me, please let me make music in this house. I cannot bear to live without ever hearing music again, without opening my mouth and singing. God! It is so quiet here."

"Oh Christine, my Little Lotte." Raoul held her tight to him.

"The very reason we met was because my father was tutoring you at violin. What happened to that? Why did your father cease to love music?"

"My mother was a gifted singer. My father fell in love with her voice and in turn fell in love with music. She was from a very fine, very _rich_ family in northern France. Once my mother began to fall ill after Reniette's birth, she was no longer able to sing. I was tutored in violin for as long as my mother thrived. Your father was cast away by my father and my tutoring ceased. My father's love for her was purely based in her voice."

Christine shuddered as she clung to Raoul, "So music became potent to him?"

"Yes. My brother, as my father, blamed music to be her undoing. This is why Phillipe is so adamant against bringing music back to the manor. But if it will make you happy again, I will bring a piano forte into the west wing of the manor. It is seldom visited by my siblings and will do well for you to practice."

"I haven't been to the west wing."

"It was my mother's wing."

"Phillipe wouldn't be angry would he?" Christine looked up at Raoul with her doe eyes.

"I will deal with him. For now," Raoul slowly helped Christine rise to her feet. Catching her by surprise as he swept her off of her feet and into his arms. "You must rest."

"Thank you Raoul!" Christine beamed, pressing a kiss to his chin. "Thank you!"

If there was music again, surrounding her, then all would be perfect once more.

~o~

The ship was cramped on the lower deck, but thankfully in the cramp conditions the lighting was also dim. Madame Giry sat beside the masked phantom, petting her sleeping daughters golden locks as she slept against her shoulder.

"We will start again in America." He muttered, starring down at his gloved hands. "They have been saying for two centuries that America is the land of fresh starts and freedom and accepting."

"Yes." Madame Giry agreed, "You can start again somewhere where no one has heard of the masked man who haunted the Opera Populaire. Let the curtain fall on your past. Let us start again."

"The fire consumed everything of the past."

"They think you dead." Madame Giry, turned to look at him. "They all think that you were burned to death in the fire."

"Yes, they _all_ do." He inwardly smiled, remembering with painful memories that Christine knew that he lived.

"Mother do you think Christine will be upset that we missed her wedding?" Meg asked, shifting in her sleep. "I wish we could have seen her one last time."

"Meg, dear, go back to sleep." Madame Giry warned, eyeing the Phantom cautiously. In the dim lightening she could see his eyes igniting with anger. "I am sorry."

"It doesn't matter now." He coldly retorted, his body rigid as he remembered Christine's body wrapped around his. She was so fragile and so beautiful. He would have destroyed her if he had stayed. He would carry the memory of the music they made with him until he died.

How would life go on until he heard her sing once more?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I would like to mention that the aforementioned illness, is not **_**yet**_ **morning sickness. Trust me. That was purely Christine being stressed. There is much more to come. **

**~o~**

Christine watched Raoul as he moved about their bed chamber, readying himself for bed. She had become used to retiring earlier than him and quietly watching him from their bed. Though they had not properly consummated their marital bed, they slept beside one another as husband and wife. She admired Raoul for not pressing the matter since she first voiced her concerns and fears. She had to give him credit for being a compassionate husband.

"Raoul," Christine started quietly, waiting to continue when he turned to face her with a curious look on his face. "Are you angry that I have been shy about _being_ with you? Meg once told me that a man could become angry if you played hard to get for too long."

"Of course not, Christine." Raoul replied, laughing off her question to hide an underlying resentment. "I am not going to rush you. You have been through many emotional trials and I do not want to damage your emotional condition."

Christine looked away.

"Christine, my dear, don't think that I mean that the wrong way." Raoul moved to sit on the bed beside her, taking her hands into his own. "You think that I believe you mad don't you?"

"Sometimes you look at me as you did on the roof top when I told you of-"

"Don't mention him." Raoul warned, shaking her hands out of frustration. "Please."

"But it's true. You look at me like _poor crazy girl_." Christine's brows knit together. "I'm not crazy. You saw that too! I only approached this subject to tell you that…" She shrugged.

"Tell me what?"

Christine looked up slowly, meeting his eyes, "I am ready to be your wife."

Raoul didn't argue with her or question her a second time. His lips were pressed against hers in a matter of seconds. Sealing her words with a kiss. He was being driven mad waiting to become one with Christine. His wife. His Little Lotte.

"I love you." Raoul murmured as he slowly unlaced her nightgown.

"And I love you." Christine smiled sweetly up at him. She wondered why there was no overwhelming passion coursing through her veins. Why there was no music soaring up around her and enveloping her in the bliss of melody. She had her taste of beauty, and she feared it had been her last.

~o~

"If we are to make another oceanic journey, I wish it not to be a freighter." Meg pouted as the disembarked from the depths of the ship.

Madame Giry ignored her daughter, turning to the masked man beside her. "What will your name be? I am certain immigration will not accept the _Phantom_."

He gave her a grimace of a smile, pulling forth from his waistcoat and bundle of papers. "I am no fool, Giry. I do have paperwork that proves myself, a legitimate French citizen."

"But-"

"A document can pass even if it is not _true_."

Giry snatched the papers from his hands, "Mr. Erik Y?"

"At your service." He replied, frowning at her disapproving glares. "America is all about starting _fresh_ isn't it? There is nothing wrong with falsifying documents."

With that, the Phantom found himself passing through the gates of Ellis Island. Despite the mask he wore, a clear sign of some disfigurement, the French man was allowed to enter into New York. One more face in the crowd of the masses that poured into the massive city on a daily basis.

This was where he could start again. Start over without the haunting thoughts of Christine so present to his life. If he had stayed in France he would have been tempted to seek her out again, see her _one_ more time. With an ocean between him he could focus on grander schemes. He glanced towards Meg Giry, her mouth a gape as she stared up at the towering buildings being built above them.

"There are so many!" She peeped, grabbing her mother's arm in joy. "Look at them all!"

She would be a suitable progeny. She was no Christine, but her voice was passible. Madame Giry had always wished that he would take on her own daughter to train, and now she could find herself under his tutoring.

~o~

Was she truly supposed to be _so_ ill, _so _fast? It had been only a few days since she had finally submitted to her husband in their marital bed. Could she possibly be suffering from morning sickness? Did that happen so soon?

She couldn't let the thoughts of _him_ fill her mind when she thought that perhaps the child wasn't Raoul's. Raoul hadn't mentioned that she was not a maid. She hadn't bled. No, that had been reserved for _him_.

She gasped as her stomach suddenly twisted in knots again. It felt worse than she had a few weeks ago, when she was ill. Perhaps she was only sick. Perhaps this meant nothing. It had only been two days of losing her stomach.

"Christine?" Raoul asked as he entered their bedroom, spotting his wife lying on her side beside her chamber pot. "Oh Christine!"

"I don't feel well Raoul." Christine whimpered, wrapping her arms around her stomach and crippling over.

"Christine, it's alright. I'm right here. I am here beside you." He wrapped a secure arm over her back, using his free hand to hold her hair back as her stomach betrayed her again.

"I don't understand why this is happening."

"You're going to be alright." Raoul reassured her, stroking her back. "This will pass."

"Two days this week, Raoul." Christine rasped, turning to press her cheek against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, clutching to him. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, Christine." Raoul replied, rocking her gently back and forth. "It may only be a simple sickness."

"But it could be…"

"Yes."

"Oh." Christine's eyes opened wide with surprise.

"But don't think of that. Don't get your hopes up. It's far too early. Instead think of this. There is something that is to be delivered today."

"What?" Christine asked, covering her mouth as she felt ill again.

Raoul kissed her cheek, "When you are able to leave this spot I will _show_ you."

"Is it the piano?" Christine grinned broadly, for a moment forgetting her rolling stomach. "Oh Raoul!" Christine startled him as she through her arms around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. "Thank you!"

"Despite Phillipe's adamant protests, I did it."

"This house needs _music_. It is so quiet… It's so empty here without music." Christine's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Now I can sing again! I can soar high with songs! Oh! To think that there will be music all around."

"Yes." Raoul smiled stiffly, "But you promise me that you won't let the music overtake you again. Not in the way that it did before."

"You mean when _he_ was my tutor?"

"Don't speak of him, Christine. I don't want to hear him mentioned in my life."

"I'm sorry." Christine looked away. If she could have her music back she _knew_ that everything would be okay. Even if she couldn't see her angel again, she could remember him every time she opened her mouth to sing. He was _there_ inside her mind. Even if he wasn't there. He _was_ there.

Even if she was pregnant with _his_ child and not Raoul's and if she never saw him again… The memory of their one night would haunt her mind until the day she died. But she knew that she had to forget him if she desired her marriage to survive. Raoul would never approve of her mind drifting to her phantom.

**A/N: I have no idea where this is going to go, but I have plans. Bear with me. **


	6. Chapter 6

Was he truly reduced to be a side show act? _No_. Contrary to Madame Giry's belief's he was only there because he had great aspirations of purchasing the small freak show. Where else could a man that hid his face with a mask be at peace? Despite that it reminded him of his terrible beginnings, he persevered. He would start over in America. Madame Giry worked her magic on those she needed to to succeed and Meg worked her charm with the men in charge to gain them permanent residence in America.

In no time _he _would own the side show and make it the dream of something so much larger come true.

~o~

Music! Sweet and beautiful, hypnotizing music. Christine looked up from the piano with a beaming grin across her face. "Oh, thank you Raoul! Thank you!"

"I like seeing you happy, my little Lotte." Raoul laughed, placing his hands on the smooth surface of the piano. "I love seeing you beaming and I love _more _ than anything to hear you sing." He moved around the piano, standing behind her and looking at the sheet music. "Think of me?"

"I kept it. From my dressing room. It's the only music that survived the fire."

"Did _he_ compo-"

"Oh no! No… _Don Juan_ was the first piece he had ever composed for the Populaire to use." He had composed many a song for her private use but those had not survived.

"Think of Me was the first time I saw you." Raoul remembered, kissing her shoulder lovingly.

"It was not the first time _I _saw _you_."

"And when did you see me?"

Christine chuckled, "When the new owners introduced you. I was one of the Hannibal chorus girls."

"In chains?" Raoul asked, giving her a sheepish grin.

"Did you see me?"

"There were several pretty brunettes." Raoul admitted, apologetically.

"Well I was no longer the gawky little girl you once knew."

"No, you were a young woman."

Christine leaned up and kissed him, "Your wife."

"My wife." Raoul gave her a playful wink. "Now, my wife, I must give you bad news. I am to leave you for several weeks at the hands of Phillipe and Reinette."

"But Raoul-"

"No buts, my love. It will be fine, I promise. They are not always preying creatures. Occasionally they bare their souls." Raoul laughed, "I have matters to attend to in Monte Carlo, they will keep me half a month. No more."

"But I need you." Christine pouted, she had learned to lean so heavily on Raoul. She needed him to guard her and guide her. She tried her best to be a woman but she failed at knowing what it meant to be in charge of her own life. Without the instruction of Madame Giry, the rigid schedules of the theatre, and her angel's guidance, she found herself floundering. She had never had so much alone time as she did now in the massive manor.

"But look at this," Raoul gestured to the piano. "I leave you with _music_."

"Yes!" Christine bubbled with joy of the piano still. She wondered if it irked Raoul that she was slowly slipping back into the giddy joy of a child. She had slipped back into that comfortable setting when she first realized the fear of carrying the Phantom's child. What if he or she was born as _he_ had been? Raoul would certainly know then! If she continued such an innocent pursuit perhaps Raoul would forgive her when the truth was revealed.

Though she would never lie about the matters of the conception. She would leave it at the true paternity and not dare breathe a lie that cast any more shame on her angel's name. It was a truth that her marriage forbid and yet she would not lie and she would not say that it was _his_ if the child was born perfect. How could she even think of the child's face? How could she call it perfect when she thought that the Phantom was perfect exactly how he was?

"Christine?" Raoul asked curiously, watching as Christine sank into thought. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Christine started, blinking her eyes slowly. "I was thinking of… how lonely I will be without you."

"I have grown used to having you with me too." Raoul kissed her cheek. He found her significantly more peaceful to be with now that they were truly _man and wife_. There was no awkward fear of making a mistake and slipping past her barriers of trust. Though he found her _barriers_ broken he did not fear that she had known another man. She was too innocent and shy in their marriage bed to ever make him doubt her faithfulness.

"Perhaps when you return our questions will be answered." Christine smiled, crinkling her nose. "To think me, your wife, with child! When we were just children a few years ago!"

Raoul tapped her on the nose, "Little Lotte! Let her mind wander."

"Little Lotte thought am I fonder of dolls-"

"Or of riddles."

"Or shoes!" Christine giggled, "No whatever best Little Lotte said, is when the ang…" She cringed, "I'm sorry Raoul. It's only our old rhyme… That was before it all became real."

"Before a deranged man took the form of your deceased father." Raoul spat, shaking his head in disappointment. "If his face were not so hideous then it was his intentions that lay bathed in sin."

"Raoul!" Christine protested, "He did not take the form of my father. I never once looked at him as my father."

"And how did you look at _him_?" Raoul gritted.

"I…" Christine was at a loss for words. "I looked at him as… my tutor."

"You never once thought of him as anything more or less?"

"I hardly knew him. I only knew that he was a gifted musician who wore a mask." Christine shrugged, staring at the piano. "He taught me to appreciate the tiniest aspects of music"

Raoul stepped away from her, his eyes knit together in frustration. "Do you not see him as a deranged murderer Christine? You speak of him with such admiration, with such lo-"

"Raoul!" Christine gasped, ashamed that her husband would jump to that conclusion. "Please, you're leaving. Let's not argue."

"You do though! You have placed him on this pedestal. He killed Bouquet! He killed Piangi! He had a noose around my neck! He threated _my_ life for _your_ love. He was a mad man!"

Christine looked away. There was no point in trying to point our redeeming qualities that she had found in her strange angel. Qualities that had led her to giving herself to him; body, mind, and soul. Even if he had left her, she knew he had to have meant well. He couldn't have known that she would accept him in the light of day. He was so misguided that he must have assumed that she would hide from his face in the morning. He was afraid and he too was childlike.

"Oh, Christine." He took her hands in his. "I don't mean to throw my hatred for _him_ at you. I don't mean to speak ill of the dead."

"What?" Christine turned, wide-eyed.

"You did not know?"

"Know what?"

"They recovered a body in the Populaire. It seems that though the smoke ceased its billowing some weeks ago, that the tortured soul returned just before the fire ceased burning within. A body was found, nearly destroyed by flames, at the mouth of the lake. The mask was seared to his skin in the flames that consumed him. He appears to have tried to return to his world but was caught in falling debris and killed."

"No." Christine held her breath, shaking her head fervently. Had he gone back to his world after their union? Was he so ashamed of who he was that he lay on the bank and allow himself to be consumed by flames?

"I'm sorry Christine…" Raoul hugged her to his chest as she began to cry. It pained him to know that she wept for the loss of a murderer, but could understand that the spell _he_ had cast over his wife was now broken and it was a devastating loss for such an innocent spirit.

**A/N: I hope you are all enjoying my take on PotO and LND. I'm enjoying a bit of a rewrite, fleshed out story. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Not really sure how I became a softy for Hadley's Raoul. It might be because I was softened when I saw Tim Walton (a swing) as Raoul back about 14 weeks ago in LND and then seeing the same actor play the Phantom the second day. Long story short **_**he**_** was better than David Thaxton as Raoul and could make Ramin question his Phantom. He was fab.**

**~o~**

Raoul had been gone for one week and Christine suffered alone with her morning sickness each morning. She knew that he had told her to call for Reinette's assistance but she didn't feel comfortable with the righteous blonde. She knew that she was better than Christine and would only trouble her more. She was uncomfortable alone in the manor without Raoul to be near her side when she needed him.

No matter how hard she wished for this child that was forming in her womb, she knew who the father truly was and the thought killed her. The Phantom had left her and Raoul had stood by. If Raoul discovered the truth, he would leave her too. Then where would she be? The Phantom had died.

She didn't believe it at all, but there was no way she could prove it otherwise. He had left the lair and then he had vanished from her side, presumably to return to his crumbling home. Christine didn't feel as though he was gone, no she felt the same as she had when he first filled her with such sweet intoxication. Perhaps it was merely the memory of him and not a true sign of his existence.

The curtain had fallen on that part of her life for good now. She had to let the past stay in the past. There was no point of wondering where her strange angel was now. He had left her and she ought to resent him for it. He had asked for no pity and she should oblige to it.

~o~

"You degrade yourself as a mere freak," Madame Giry chastised as Mr. Y entered the small, two bedroom, flat that they had managed to rent. It was small and dingy and nothing compared to the elegance of the Populaire that all three parties were used to. "We live in a shack."

"I have purchased the side show." Erik retorted, glaring up from the newspaper he was scanning. "I no longer have to reveal myself before horrified on lookers. No, instead I command the freaks as I wish."

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

"Coney Island draws in tourists from up and down the coast of the United States. What's to say that they won't want something a little more _morbid_ to set their eyes upon."

"A freak show? At Coney?"

"It won't happen anytime soon. _No_. I need those like-minded individuals who will help my empire grow."

"You're talking like a mad man."

Erik only grinned in response.

~o~

"What a pretty little doll. What are you doing here all alone?" The stranger questioned Meg, settling up at the counter beside her. "We don't see many dolls alone here."

"Oh?" Meg asked, giving an innocent and slightly worried smile. "Well I only came here for a cup of tea, but then I found that coffees a more favorable drink here."

"French?"

"Oui."

"Name's Doctor Jack Brandon."

"Meg Giry." She smiled politely, "A medical doctor?"

"Yes. And what do you do?"

"I'm a dancer from Paris. I've come here to sing and dance."

"Well, doll, you've come to the right place. Can I buy you your cup of joe?"

"Cup of jo-"

"Coffee." Jack smiled, giving her a playful wink. "You've got to learn the American lingo."

"Yes, I do." Meg laughed, nodding her head. "If you'd like to." He wasn't a bad looking man to be talking with, quite the contrary actually. He had sinfully beautiful blue eyes, sleek black hair, and a smugish grin to die for.

~o~

Christine sat at the piano, playing a song that she had been taught by the Phantom. Though it was not as perfect as it could have been, if his skilled fingers had been playing, it seemed to calm her aching stomach and her frayed nerves.

Reinette was a spiteful sister-in-law, she had chastised Christine when she'd finally made it down to the breakfast room, only to find that breakfast was well over.

"You should attempt to be more prompt. You would think that a _performer_ should know to be on time for things."

"Oh!" Christine had gasped, feeling her heart sink as the woman laughed at her. "I was not feeling well this morning, I didn't mean to be late."

"I don't know why my brother married you. You've been ill since before he married you. If I had been him I would have got out when I had the chance. To be stuck with such a troubled woman until death…"

"I'm not troubled!" Christine protested, crossing her arms across her chest in an act of strength only to have her shoulder sink.

"You spent the night before your wedding locked up in the attic. Perhaps a foreshadow of an event much like Mr. Rochester's deranged wife."

"What?"

"You _do_ read don't you?" Reinette teased cruelly, "Or did he marry a stupid _and_ crazed little girl?"

"I do know how to read." Christine bit her lip, feeling it tremble beneath her teeth. "You mean _Jane Eyre_." Her father had read that book to her. She remembered that much, but she didn't understand how she could be compared to Mr. Rochester's first wife.

"Don't play naïve, I know that you had something to do with the strange occurrences at the Opera House. And to think, blame was cast on my brother, for being the reason you so quickly grew in fame. But, no. It was that hideous beast that you revealed before the audience."

"Please don't…"

"How could you have let that monster touch you in such a fashion, even if for the sake of theatre."

Christine turned away, Raoul had told her to ignore Reinette if she made her feel uncomfortable. Without a word she started to walk away.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To forget about everything." Christine replied as she rushed down the corridor towards the west wing of the house. Her desire to drown herself in melody was the reason why she sat now, playing her heart on soul out at the piano.

Her voice crisply moved around the room, filling her mind pleasantly with thoughts of days gone by.

Suddenly, with no warning, she felt arms wrap around her. She shrieked, fighting the hold. Christine twisted and squirmed, reaching behind her to push away the man who held her tightly.

"Christine! It's me!" Raoul chuckled, pressing calming kisses to her cheeks.

Christine turned in his arms, rising to her feet and wrapping her arms around him in a loving embrace. "You frightened me!"

"I didn't mean to." Raoul continued to laugh, amused at her fearful behavior. "You sounded incredible."

"How are you back? You were meant to be gone for half a month!" Christine kissed him passionately, relieved to have him back again to protect her from his cruel siblings.

"Would you like me to leave again?"

"No!" Christine laughed, holding his face between her hands. "I don't want you to leave again! Not so soon at least."

"Did you fare well without me?"

Did she tell him how cruel his sister had been? Christine responded with a shrug.

"Phillipe or Reinette?"

"Reinette. She believes that you have married a crazy woman. Oh Raoul, I don't think I'm crazy. Do you? I mean… If she understood the depth of what I've been through. If she had been in my place."

Raoul kissed her, calming her trembling form with such a sweet and simple touch. "I think you are perfect. Exactly the way you are."

Christine beamed, it didn't matter what Rienette thought as long as she knew what Raoul thought.

"I chose you to be my wife. I could have chosen anyone else, but I chose you."

"I love you Raoul."

"And I love you Christine." Raoul turned her slowly in his arms, so her back was against his chest. His hands ran down her sides, stopping at her stomach. "And I love this child that may be forming with in you." His warm palm ghosted across her stomach, before sliding back up her body.

"Raoul!" Christine giggled as his hands found her bosom, "Anyone could walk in. What if they were to see you acting so _bold_ outside of our bed chamber? Surely your sister would suggest that I was bewitching you." She playfully swatted his hands to no success.

"You have bewitched me. When I first saw you upon the stage. Your hair," He brushed her hair aside, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck. "shining in the light. Your voice." He ran his hand along her throat, then back down along her collarbone. "Piercing through my heart."

"Raoul."

"Your body so unlike the young girl that haunted my memories." His hands made their way back down her body, keeping her tightly pressed against him. Christine attempted to turn, but his hold was too tight. Instead she craned her neck around, pursing her lips in a silent plea for him to kiss her. He readily obliged, melding their lips together in a searing hot kiss.

There was passion between them after all.


	8. Chapter 8

It was incredible to think that they had been married for just under nine months when their first child entered into the world nearly a month ahead of schedule. Bringing a child into the world would be a huge step for them, they had discussed all of their fears and hesitations in the weeks before the birth, but neither expected it to come so soon.

But their fears vanished as soon as they both laid eyes on the handsome little boy. Little Gustave. For Christine the fears of hideousness dissolved when she saw the beautiful and _flawless_ angel in her arms. But despite the unmarred face, Christine knew she had not gone into labor early, she knew that this baby was the Phantoms. But with him gone, why was there any point on dwelling on it. Raoul would make a perfect father. Though he had his moments of being a brutish husband, he had more moments of being a hapless romantic.

"A son!" Christine chuckled, as Raoul wiped the sweat from her brow. The exhaustion was evident on both of their faces.

"You nearly broke my hand."

"Yes, well," Christine sighed, "I believe my ordeal was far worse."

Gustave let out a little cry.

"Thank you Marie," Raoul commented to the mid-wife who had just finished packing up her kit. "And everything is well?"

"You have a healthy little boy and a strong mother to care for him."

Christine looked up at Raoul with her large eyes, "And I have a loving husband." As she said the words she was suddenly overcome with overwhelming grief. Her face sank and she began to weep.

"Christine!" Raoul gasped, sitting back beside her on the bed. "What's wrong?"

She merely shook her head, too distraught to even speak. He would guess it was only the pain and the turmoil she had experienced in the process of giving birth – not that it was shame at the paternity and the lie that she would keep to her death bed.

~o~

The apartment was quiet as Madame Giry read a book and glanced up occasionally at Erik, busily composing the music that played in his head. The process had been going on for months. He would compose and compose and work diligently on one piece before discarding it, claiming that there was no muse that could make him write such masterpieces again.

The door to the apartment flew open, revealing Meg. Madame Giry let out a startled scream to see her daughter's hands and pale blue dress stained with dark crimson blood.

"Meg!"

"Mother!" Meg trembled, baring her hands for both to see. "It's Jack."

"What's happened? Are you hurt? What's-"

"We were mugged…" Meg collapsed in a heap to the floor. "I am fine but… He.. He.."

"Where?" Erik hissed, rising to his feet and jumping into action.

"Just in the alleyway." Meg cried hysterically, trying to rub the stains from her hands. "He's dying! He needs help."

Erik wasted no time in making easy work of the flight of stairs the separated him from the alleyway. He could only gasp in horror as he saw the pool of blood beneath the doctor's neck. His vocal cords had been serrated and he was bleeding profusely.

"Jack?" Erik asked, kneeling beside the man. He vainly tried to speak, only to find that he had no voice. He grasped his neck tightly, trying to stop the flow of blood. "You aren't going to die." Erik muttered, lifting the man easily into his arms and carrying him back up to the flat.

Despite his tall, gangly torso, Jack was remarkably light.

Erik had a plan. If it didn't kill him to attempt such an unthinkable feat, it would do nothing on the chances of him living without the creative genius intervening.

To think of someone being unable to speak again. Or even sing. It was unthinkable.

~o~

"Hey Sofie!"

"Hey Amiee." Sofie teased back, prodding her friend in the ribs.

"Can you believe it? Opening night?" Amiee squealed in delight as she peeped through a hole in the curtain.

"Who are you looking for?" Sofie questioned, trying to calm her nerves as she stretched methodically.

"Oh, you know. Lovers, Suitors, Husbands. The big three."

"Always looking for love out there in a big crowd, aye?" Sofie grinned, joining her friend at the curtain.

"You know," Came a voice from behind them, startling them. "It's poor business, looking out through the curtain like that. Most theatres _frown_ upon it. You should be watching your back Sofie. The wrong eyes might see you."

"Get lost Louise." Amiee hissed, shooing away the fierce looking blond. "She's just jealous." She said to the side, glancing at Sofie.

"Oh, I know she is. I know she wants my job."

"You are the star for heaven's sake!"

"_Now, prepare yourselves for the feats of extraordinary aerodynamics! Miss Sofie and the Chicks of Flight!"_

It was incredibly cheesy and yet it was their job. In frilly yellow costumes that revealed _far_ too much skin, they would attempt stunts that sent them flying high above the audience. Tricks that caused the audience to "ooo" and "ahh".

_~o~_

"Is he… is he going to live?" Meg asked as Mr. Y stepped out of his bedroom, blood staining his hands.

"Yes," A grin formed on his lips. With little medical knowledge and the belief that a voice shouldn't be lost.

"What did you do?" Meg asked, warily.

He laughed, "It is truly amazing what sort of apparatuses a creative mind can use to create a masterpiece. I warn you Meg, he is not the same. No… far from it."

"What did you do to _him_?" Meg let out a cry of desperation, tearing past the Phantom and rushing into the room. She let out a shrill scream at the sight she saw before her, much to the Phantom's pleasure.

He was not the only freak that lived here now.

Doctor Jack Brandon _could_ speak now. Though the sound did not come from his mouth, as any normal human. No. His vocal chords had been irreparably damaged. Had the Phantom not chosen to attempt saving his voice, he would be mute forever. Instead, the make-shift surgeon used an old phonogram that had been left in the flat when they started renting. Though rustic and rather peculiar, he found that the funnel made the perfect object to emit the words and sounds that Jack made. By attaching it in a rather difficult to explain fashion, he had discovered a way to make a voice box.

"Meg?" Jack questioned, surprised to hear his own voice, though different, coming from his throat.

"What has he done…" Meg gasped, stepping hesitantly towards the bed. Where there had been blood and a fiercely opened wound, there was now a metal funnel with a funny looking metallic band that wrapped around his throat.

"He's my first re-creation." Erik announced as he stepped back into the room, drying his bloodied hands on a clean white towel. "What do you think?"

"That's grotesque." Meg covered her mouth as if she meant to lose her stomach.

"Meg, it's still me." Jack reached for her hand, only to have her jerk away. Meg turned, rushing out of the room in disgust.

"It's hell being an abomination." Erik laughed, sitting down on the stool beside his bed. "So Jack-"

"Don't call me that." Jack hissed, startled at the strange noise hissing made from his throat.

"What am I to call you?" Erik questioned, "Doctor Gangle?" He referred to what he had been telling Jack as he operated on him sans-sedative. He was such a long, tall, gangly man. It was comical to see someone with far more leg than torso move around.

"_Yes_."

~o~

**Hmmmm, what do you think? Clever? Do you like seeing different angles? Also, if you don't understand who Sofie is, read my fanfic **_**A Fleck of Hope**_**.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I did not mean to be overtly grotesque with my description of Jack's surgery. I hope you all like who he turned out to be though!**

**~o~**

Christine smiled at Raoul over breakfast, she cradled Gustave in her arms as she nibbled at the toast and eggs on her plate. Breakfast was always calmer when they took it at the small square table in the alcove of the chamber. The clear sunlight shining in through the windows.

She had learned that there was _more_ to life than the darkness and the music she had once thought meant everything to her.

"We have a beautiful son."

"Because I have a beautiful wife." Raoul replied, giving her a charming smile. "I am the luckiest man in France."

"You can say that because your _siblings_ are not here." Christine chuckled, "They would no doubt, still, chastise you about your decisions. When truly, how could you find a way out of this now? Not with such a family starting!"

"I would never dream of leaving you, child or not." Raoul reached across the table and offered her hand to his. She laid her fork down, reaching across to rest her petite hand in his palm. "I love you."

Christine beamed, she had found _true_ stable happiness with Raoul. She couldn't dream of a better environment to raise a child in.

~o~

"Gangle," Erik started, "Your stitches are completely gone. You are _perfect_." Not all would say that if they looked at the man with a strange mechanical device protruding from his neck, or even if they saw the metal plating that coated the bottom of the chin, a second operation that Erik had devised to allow the sound to resonate clearer from his mouth.

"Perfection? Meg ran from _me_ in _fear_ when she first set eyes on me and I have not seen her sense and I am here, in their home."

"You will learn that those you love will often hide in fear. It's not that they fear you, they what they do not understand." Erik patted the man on the shoulder, pleased with every word Gangle spoke.

"You speak from experience?"

"That's why I am here."

"Meg mentioned your interests in forming a freak show on Coney?" Gangle questioned, glancing towards the bedroom door when he heard the main door open and Meg's distinct ballerina's scuttle across the floor.

"You will eventually find someone who will accept you for who you are."

"Mr. Y?" Meg called, knocking on the door and patiently waiting for him to let her in.

"What is it?" Erik asked, opening the door enough so that Meg could see Gangle.

"Oh." Meg glanced at Gangle before looking away. "This flyer," She flustered, producing a flyer that claimed incredible aerodynamics from the girls in the company. "I thought you my like to see a performance."

"Thank you." Erik took the flyer, rolling his eyes at such an American title. _Sofie and the Chicks of Flight_. "Gangle, we have a show to see." He pressed the flyer to the lanky man's chest.

~o~

"See anyone out there tonight?" Sofie questioned, pushing Amiee out of the way to look for herself. "Husbands or lovers?"

"Men who will make an influence on your life?" Amiee giggled girlishly, burying her face against her friend's shoulder.

"Perhaps one evening _someone_ will be out there." Sofie dreamed, smiling goofily. "They love us, but they never show it! I just crave a little attention. I'm the star after all!"

"That could all change though." Louise commented as she passed, strutting as she owned the theatre they performed at.

Sofie shook her head, ignoring the woman's threat. She'd noticed a strange man in the audience tonight, one she'd never seen the likes of before. "Amiee, there's a man who is wearing a mask… How strange is that?"

"Is he with anyone?"

Sofie focused on the man seated beside the masked figure, she could barely see his face for a wide brimmed hat and the collar of his trench coat the hid his jaw. "I don't know."

Amiee shrugged, "Come on we need to get a little more glitter on!"

As Sofie and Amiee passed Louise, neither noticed the wrench in her hand or the scheming looks she wore. Neither knew that tonight would be Sofie's last.

~o~

Erik had been startled to find his first performance in America, marred with a disaster that _surprisingly_ he did not cause. The woman, Sofie, he thought her name was, plummeted to the stage in a spiraling form of red silk and sparkling glitter. Her raven hair pillowed out behind her as she gracefully fell through the air. The grace ending as she crashed to the ground in a sudden shock of screams and panic.

There was no way that anyone could survive a fall and yet the petite woman made a vain attempt to save herself from the wreckage. Though from what Erik could see she was limited to the use of only her arms. Her legs seemed crippled and mangled beneath her screaming form.

"I can't believe my eyes!" Gangle gasped, "I must help her, I'm a doctor after all."

"Do what you must." Erik replied half-heartedly, waving Gangle away as he sought to make himself useful in the crisis. What use was _he_?

~o~

"Her legs are too badly damaged," Announced Gangle as he approached a patiently waiting Erik. "She will never perform again, much less walk."

"And her condition?"

"In and out of right mind. Perhaps _you_ would like to look at her." He offered, gesturing towards his throat. "You seem to be the master of these things."

"You were a fluke."

Erik laughed coldly, "You expect me to hold some fleck of hope that I might be able to salvage a broken performers ruined legs?"

"Yes."

Reluctantly he rose from his seat, entering into the acrobat's dressing room. "It seems that our dear doctor has decided you a cripple. We aren't going to let him be right are we?"

"What are you?" Sofie asked through hazy eyes, looking up at the man with the mask that she had seen from the audience.

"A man."

"You can't fix me."

"I can." Erik insisted, searching the dressing room for the things he would need to form an apparatus to straighten out her legs. "You will soar once again high above the crowds. I promise."

"It won't happen." Sofie resigned, tears springing to her sore eyes.

"With a fleck of hope, anything is possible."

_Anything is possible_.

~o~

It was an arduous journey… From the first day when he place the constraining braces around her twisted legs, to when she began to learn to walk with crutches, to the day she found that one leg was capable of moving as it once had – while the other refused to obey.

_He_ had given her a chance to live again. She was intrigued by his plans to extend his side show freak show into something massive and daunting. Something she readily agreed to participate in. She was also intrigued by the strange man who had given her the initial bad news. When she had first seen him he was hidden and when she saw him revealed – she found a beautiful display of human ingenuity and a passionate will to live.

"Gangle." She started, approaching the tall man hesitantly.

"Yes, _Miss Fleck_." He teased playfully.

"What would you think of a pair of freaks going somewhere nice for supper?" Fleck shied away, fearful of reject.

"I would like that." Gangle replied, feeling the liberation of exception sinking in through his pores. Did this fallen angel see him as a man and not a piece of machinery?

**A/N: I hope you don't mind all of this formation of the freaks. I suddenly fine I want to bring them to life in this story! I hope you all don't hate me for it. Also, wtf, Raoul love? I love Raoul….**


	10. Chapter 10

Neither could deny that there was something beautiful in being able to be themselves with one another. Gangle didn't feel the need to wear the collar of his long coat turned up conceal his neck and Fleck didn't need to wear long dresses that hit the floor to hide the legwear she had to endure. The spent nearly every evening of the week together, while at day they spent their hours together, performing for crowds that their master drew in.

"It is finally becoming _something_. Something other than a freak show, something akin to a theatre."

"A theatre of the macabre." Meg added, watching Fleck and Gangle perform on stage. She could hardly watch them.

"Meg dear," Madame Giry started, patting her daughter's leg, "do you see that gentleman right over there?"

She nodded, "The handsome one in the blue suit?"

"No. There."

Meg looked where her mother pointed, noticing a slightly heavier set, middle aged man. She nodded.

"Good, now Meg, he is the manager of development here in New York and we desperately need him to approve of the Master's plans."

"Well, if you could make him _feel_ satisfied with our ideas, it could work to our benefit."

Meg gulped, looking down at her scantily clad costume. The feathered skirt came to just above her knees, her legs extenuated by high heels, and a top that reminded her of _Hannibal_. "Of course mother." What man would deny that Meg was sent as an offering? She was no smooth talker, but where her talking was rough, her skin _was_ smooth.

~o~

"Our little Gustave is six months old today!" Raoul reminded Christine. He settled himself onto the bed beside his beautiful wife as she nursed their young child. "It is remarkable how quickly time is passing." Despite his gentle words there was an underlying disappointment in the time that had passed. Christine had grown romantically distant from him, she seemed little interested in him. He had consulted close friends of him who had assured him that a few months after childbirth a wife would return to her former self. But Christine had not.

"Half a year old." Christine smiled, watching as Gustave nursed. "He is such a handsome little boy."

"Just like his father?" Raoul asked teasingly.

Christine looked up at him slowly, "I would not think you so _little_ and boyish. But handsome… yes." The words were hard to say, hard to say with the knowledge of the real father. "What is wrong, Raoul, you look troubled?"

"I will tell you once Gustave's been put back to bed." Raoul replied, resting back against the bed. They'd been married well over a year and had been a faithful husband, unlike many men he knew. He had been frustrated with her marital negligence but he had done nothing about it. He had been patient with her. He had _always_ been patient with her.

Christine carried on with nursing Gustave until the sleepy little baby unattached himself and started to drift to sleep. Christine carefully lifted him into her arms and carried him across the room, placing him into his crib. She returned, straightening out her gown before sitting down on the bed once more. "Now what is that you wish to talk of?"

"We have been married for nearly a year and a half-" Raoul started.

"I haven't forgotten!" Christine giggled childishly, moving closer to him and resting a loving arm across his chest. "They have been fifteen months of joy."

"But have _I_ been the one to bring you joy?" Raoul questioned, placing his hand over hers on his chest. "Or has it been Gustave? You pay me little mind and I dare to say that you do not comprehend the _torture_ that it has been for me."

"Oh, Raoul, it cannot be so very bad." Christine pursed her lips, "I have not felt that romance is lacking from us."

"But I have Christine. If you took the time to inquire on _my_ feelings perhaps you would know." Raoul pushed her hand away from his chest.

Christine sat up quickly on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her bottom. She crossed her hands across her chest and stared at Raoul. "I do ask of you. I constantly ask of you."

"But do _you_ care about my feelings, my emotions, my _desires_?" Raoul grabbed her arms in a hasty move. "I am tired of your cat and mouse game. You lay beside me like my wife, you kiss my lips like my wife, and yet you keep me at a distance which would bring me such pain. I patiently waited for you to consent to our marital bed and now you deny your love again."

Christine's eyes opened wide as Raoul's grip tightened. "I did not mean to hurt you Raoul, really, I did not. It's just… I'm terrified of all these duties that my life here consists of. Raoul, I'm frightened of having another child. I am so cautious with Gustave, I dote upon him and care for him so thoroughly. I am afraid to do the slightest thing wrong. _Please_ Raoul. This also scares me so. You cannot expect me to be at ease."

"I expect you to be at ease as my wife. I expect you to want to be my wife. But I find that you have no interest in me. Where was the girl at the Opera Populaire who was so ready and willing to be my wife? So quick to lavish me with sweet kisses and gentle caresses? Where has _she_ gone? And why did she leave such a timid beast in her wake?" Raoul growled, letting go of Christine and rising from the bed. "You try my patience."

"Please Raoul." Christine begged, following after him with tears running down her cheeks. "Please, please."

Gustave started to cry and she hesitated, looking between Raoul and the crib.

"Go ahead, tend to the _child_. Don't try to save your marriage." He headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked desperately. She moved to the crib, quietly shushing the baby. "Please Raoul, come back to bed and please I don't want to argue with you."

"No." Raoul snapped, wheeling around and watching Christine as she was lifting Gustave from the crib. "I am going out. I should like to drown away my sorrows."

"Raoul please."

"_No_." He slammed the door, the sound sending Gustave and Christine into a fit of tears and weeping. Christine could not understand why this had all transpired. She had thought that she had been a good wife and a good mother.

Had she come to be unmovable past the knowledge of Gustave's birth? Was that blocking her relationship with Raoul? Was her Phantom _still_ seeking to possess her as his and only his? Perhaps a spirit as his name sake said? Come back to haunt the woman that he loved and the child that he would never know?

~o~

**A/N: I have a tumblr if you'd like to follow, PM me, and I will give you my user name. Also, midterms this week. I'm writing this as I watch Jane Eyre for my BritLit class and alternating between history memorization. **


	11. Chapter 11

Didn't Raoul understand how much she was having to go through with raising a

son? No, he didn't know and not just because she had kept truths secret from him - but because he was never around. He made himself busy with politics from morning till evening and when night fell he was absent until he came tumbling in just a few hours before dawn. Drunk, hysterical, and barely able to get himself into bed.

Even then Christine would prove herself a diligent wife, helping to pull his

shoes off and strip him down to a comfortable layer of clothing and convince him to get into bed. He would mumble complaints to her until he finally fell asleep. Most complaints were to do with her and her various crimes against their marriage.

Little did he seem to realize, as morning dawned, that Christine had been the

one to get him into bed safe and sound. By the time he finally pulled himself

out of bed, Christine was busily tending to Gustave. She had slept as little as

he had. Not that he seemed to care as he carried on with the same pattern of

life.

If Christine could be distant, so could he. But he didn't seem to comprehend the paradigm. The more distant he grew towards Christine because of her increasing distance, the more distant she became. His frustration towards her only fueled her irritation.

But she still, foolishly, loved him. She had taken the duty of caring for not

just one child, but two. Raoul didn't realize what sort of state he returned to their bedroom in. It would be impossible for her to sleep though his

histrionics. And his late evenings kept her up, worrying about his sorry self, until he returned.

And how did he repay her? With a cold shoulder and an irritate glare. There was no love on his part, at least not what she saw. He was merely tolerating her.

She was dealing with him and he was tolerating her.

Raoul had become a man that she did not even recognize. He didn't attempt to

disarm his siblings when they sought to torment his wife. Instead, he watched as he sipped in brandy like he was watching a losing badminton game. Christine was no match, tired and worn thin from long days and nights, for the cruel sibling duo.

Some nights the drunken Raoul would curl himself up so close to her that she

couldn't turn over. He would cry into her shoulder or burry his face in her

bosom like their infant. He was a pitiful sight a doubt his tender moments of weakness were what continued to draw him to her. She saw his weakness and wanted to help. She wanted the boy she once knew to come back.

But he was long gone. Replaced was a drunkard with a nasty temper and a short

patience.

~o~

Meg Giry was not what he would call talent. Yes, as big Fleck and Gangle had

pointed out, Meg had a beautiful dancer's body and her voice was passible for a chorus girl. But, Meg was not the singer and dancer was portraying on stage.

She love the hoots and hollers were for her performance, when the men were

simply cheering about her state of undress. So much bare skin dancing around on stage would entertain any man.

Except for Erik who stifled a yawn as he watched. He didn't want his name

attached to sub cheap garbage.

Without Christine's voice - there was no music that would please him. Everything was empty. There was no life in his melodies an lyrics. There was only simple notes strung together to create a song that could have been either beautiful or not.

That was why he had drawn away from the same sort of music that he once wrote. It was nothing now.

"Master," Fleck started turning to look at the masked man from their hidden

seats beneath the shadow of the balcony.

"Yes?"

"Gangle and I are going to retire. We have little taste in this."

"But soon you both will have an act before this and will introduce Miss Giry to the audience."

Gangle chuckled, "Then, until that time we seek escape!"

"Lucky." Erik laughed darkly as the couple escaped into the shadows. He was not allowed to leave. Not if he desired the Girys to continue their persistent work. They were useful. He was no fool when it came to manipulating people to do his bidding. Kindness and toleration would go a long way. And if he expected his dreams to become real it was necessary for him to be a humble servant to the ballet mistress and her pitchy daughter.

Escape was not his only jealousy. Their disfigurements were not as terrible as they perceived them to be. They had found a romantic solace in each other and he had no one. He was left alone.

No, he had left Christine. Not the other way around. Tearing himself away from her soft, nearly virgin flesh, had been painful. That evening they had both lost themselves to each other. Christine hardly batted an eye when it came to their union.

She was married now. No doubt smitten by the Vicomte and happy in his warm

embrace. He was a whole man who could provide everything to her.

~o~

"Raoul please, don't go out tonight." Christine begged, catching her husband's arm as he brushed by.

"_Christine_." Raoul tried to shake her hold off of him. "I have to leave now. I'm late. We can talk about this later."

"No we can't. You leave for work, come back in time for dinner and vanish for the evening. I don't want to have to worry another night."

"There's no need for you to worry, I can take care of myself."

"But I do. You don't see yourself when you finally tumble back. I'm sure you don't even believe me when I say that I wait up until you're back. But my work doesn't end there. I wait for you so I can disrobe you, help you into our bed, and calm your histrionics so we can both sleep for the few hours we have left in the night."

Raoul's expression softened, he stepped towards her and stroked her cheek. She flinched away at first, and he frowned, but when she looked up at him with doe like eyes his expression changed again. "Oh, Christine."

Christine rose up on her tiptoes and kissed Raoul, tasting brandy on his lips. Had he honestly gotten up in the morning and drunk more? She didn't dare mention it, fearful that he'd be furious with her.

Raoul's kiss deepened and he stepped them back until she pressed against the wall. He inwardly laughed when he felt her breath catch in her chest and her hold on his arm tighten. She didn't dare to fight his hold completely. His hand slid down her arm, ghosting across the curve of her bosom, and resting at her hip.

Christine pulled back, fighting to look easy with this situation. "Aren't you _late_?" She attempted to chuckle but Raoul's hot and angry glare stifled it. "I'm only joking Raoul."

"I am late." He hissed, kissing her with bruising force, before pulling back and leaving abruptly.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she sank to her knees. She tried _so_ hard to be there for him, to be a loving wife. She never knew her own mother; she never had a suitable example of motherhood and being a wife. Her father had been the only parent she ever knew and Raoul was no equal to the love and the kindness and the patience that the Danish violinist had had for Christine.

She had promised her father that she would marry a man just like him, but she hadn't. If she had she would have married the father of her child. _He_ had had all the kindness and the patience and the _music_ that her father had. Even if he didn't seem to be a kind and patient man, he was. Even when Christine tried his patience and he lashed out, he would always apologize and try to reconcile.

He had never left open wounds like Raoul did with his vanishing acts and cruel tones. But she was set in this life and could never escape. She felt sympathy for Raoul that she misunderstood as love. It wasn't love, but she wished it was.

~o~

**A/N: This story nearly wasn't posted. I nearly died last night. **

**I was returning a cart in a parking lot, walking back towards my car. When suddenly the belt on my dress got hooked to a protruding edge of the car I was passing. Hooked, I stopped, fighting with my tie to get myself loose.**

**As a car sped out of the empty spot mere inches in front of me where I would have been standing. I wouldn't have seen the car as I stepped out in front of the vehicle.**

**I thank God that my guardian angel managed to snag my attention and hold me back.**

**But I came home and after trying to sleep for an hour, I typed this WHOLE chapter on my iPHONE and emailed it to myself to post today. 1.5k written on a phone!**


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